Because bad taste is better than no taste at all.....

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

#315: Thanks a Bunch.

I seem to remember thanks being in order, but I can no longer remember your name.

Come to think about it, I don't even really remember what you looked like, or how old you were at the time. All I remember is you invited me to your sleepover. Maybe you felt sorry for me, because my cousin was having one, too, and you understood how miserable it was to not have friends of your own. 

I don't remember much of that evening. I think we sat up late and watched some cheerleading competition going on on the television. I remembered we had a "party war" going on, we'd call the radio station and diss what was going on next door, and then my cousin and her little gaggle of friends would call and do the same about us. I caught hell for that the next day from my cousins, but it was worth it.

Anyway, thank you for giving me a taste of what a normal childhood, normal teenage years, is supposed to be. 



And you. I'd love to thank you, but you never told me *your* name. 

Just as well. You probably weren't serious about what you wrote on your note. Not really. But it was nice to think someone thought my high top sneakers were "neat", and you made a point of mentioning my purple socks, so I guess you were paying some kind of attention. You also mentioned my hair, but at the time there wasn't much I could do with that, sorry. It looks a lot better now. 

You signed it simply "your secret admirer". And I'd love to know if you were really serious about that. At the time I thought it was someone being mean, so I didn't keep the letter. I wondered later on, though. About you. Thanks. 



And thank you to the woman, who returned my loafers. I know it was only under pretext; you really wanted to check up on how I was doing. You don't see people survive after flying 40 feet from the back of a motorcycle every day, especially ones who aren't wearing the right kind of helmet. Not to mention their shoes coming off in mid-flight, and all they really have at the end of the day is some "road rash" and a fractured hip. You were a nurse, and so you stopped your car and helped. Thank you. 



And to the nurse at the hospital, who tried to give me a card to her church: I appreciate it. Really. I am sorry if I came across as rude at the time, but I felt (and still do) that having just lost a child through a miscarriage is really not the time to be recruiting for said church. You meant well, I am sure. Thank you for at least trying. 


And I also would like to thank the woman who came up to me in the craft store. You know who you are. You came up to me while my daughter and I were wandering around looking at knitting needles. You said, "Excuse me. I've seen you out walking with your daughter, and I just had to ask.....Do you... NEED anything? " While I got a little irritated that you apparently follow the line of everyone else's thinking and assumed that I was a poor, unwed teenage mother with no car simply because I chose to walk to the store, I am sure you only had the best intentions. Luckily for you I was taught to respect other people and so the words "fuck off" were replaced simply by "No, thank you." But thank you for at least thinking of us. 


Finally, I'd like to thank those of you out there, who have been through my ups and downs, and continue to read this blog anyway. Some of you even have met me in person. Some of you even know the bad stuff, the stuff I haven't dared to post on here. Yet you haven't left, and I thank you. 

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